every time we’re there; she even printed out a copy for me once, when Nick and I first got married. I think she was hoping I might finally see the light. Discover the joys of polishing things.”
He laughs. “I could do with someone like that at the barn.”
“You so couldn’t, Martin, not unless you got a major supply of Valium. Either that or you’d find her collapsed in a heap, hyperventilating clutching her mop.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Is there still a big hole in the middle of the kitchen floor?”
“Yes, but I’ve told you, I haven’t decided where to put the pipes yet, not until I decide about the new cesspit. There are some really good compost loos now, you know, with sawdust, and that way I wouldn’t have to buy a tank.”
“No, because nobody would ever come round, and you and Trevor could just make do with a bucket.”
He smiles. “So you think I should hook up to mains drainage then, or replace the old cesspit?”
Since when did the merits of mains drainage become one of my specialist subjects?
“I’d rather not think about it at all, if I’m honest. But yes, since you’re asking, I think you need a proper loo, not something that includes sawdust.”
“Fair enough. I got those brochures, by the way.”
Oh, good, more brochures. He must have practically every brochure in existence now.
“For what?”
“The bath. There’s a great one, with jets and everything.”
As well as being a budding eco-warrior, Martin loves gadgets. He’s a sucker for anything electronic, especially with flashing lights and complicated programs. He’ll spend days carving the perfect banister, even though the barn doesn’t actually have any stairs yet, but he’ll also spend an entire weekend installing what seemed like miles of cable, just so he can turn off all the lights with one click of a button on the remote-control unit. Unfortunately, Trevor then buried the remote control in the garden, so he’s got to buy a new one, but in theory it’ll be great.
“I’m off to the auction now, to get those panels. Well, I hope so anyway. Solid oak.”
“Are you taking Trevor?”
“Yes.”
“Watch out he doesn’t bid for anything.”
“I’ll leave him in the car.”
“Good luck.”
“He’s much better now I’ve got the dog mesh up in the back. He lies down and goes to sleep. Well, sometimes.”
“Yes, and the rest of the time he rocks the car backward and forward and eats the backseat.”
“He does not, well not lately. I’ll ring you later, shall I, let you know how I got on at the auction?”
“Sure. I’ve got my Stitch and Bitch group later on though.”
I’m not sure I can really face another conversation about Oak.
There’s a sound of barking and aristocratic canine commands as Lady Denby arrives, with Algie and Clarkson in her wake. Dear God. Today must be Take Your Dog to Your Local Wool Shop Day and nobody’s bloody told me.
“Is that your dog outside?”
Martin takes a step backward. “Yes, he’s—”
“Get him trained then. Can’t have dogs leaping up like that, spreads like wildfire, bad behavior with dogs. People too, come to think of it. Morning, my dear, know you don’t like me bringing mine in, but I can’t leave them outside next to that idiotic wolfhound.”
“Morning, Lady Denby. I’m afraid we really can’t have them in here, not with the café. Martin was just leaving, weren’t you, Martin? So Trevor will be going too.”
“Trevor? Extraordinary name for a dog. Always call mine after staff, so much easier to remember. Excellent butler, Clarkson, worked for my father for years. Can’t remember who Algie was—oh yes, the gardener’s boy. Marvelous with soft fruit. Not the boy, the father. The boy was hopeless. Had a motorbike, used to make a terrible racket. Fell off it eventually, much quieter after that. Now, where was I?”
“Good morning, Lady Denby.”
Elsie’s shot back downstairs and is now trying to keep a safe distance
He laughs. “I could do with someone like that at the barn.”
“You so couldn’t, Martin, not unless you got a major supply of Valium. Either that or you’d find her collapsed in a heap, hyperventilating clutching her mop.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Is there still a big hole in the middle of the kitchen floor?”
“Yes, but I’ve told you, I haven’t decided where to put the pipes yet, not until I decide about the new cesspit. There are some really good compost loos now, you know, with sawdust, and that way I wouldn’t have to buy a tank.”
“No, because nobody would ever come round, and you and Trevor could just make do with a bucket.”
He smiles. “So you think I should hook up to mains drainage then, or replace the old cesspit?”
Since when did the merits of mains drainage become one of my specialist subjects?
“I’d rather not think about it at all, if I’m honest. But yes, since you’re asking, I think you need a proper loo, not something that includes sawdust.”
“Fair enough. I got those brochures, by the way.”
Oh, good, more brochures. He must have practically every brochure in existence now.
“For what?”
“The bath. There’s a great one, with jets and everything.”
As well as being a budding eco-warrior, Martin loves gadgets. He’s a sucker for anything electronic, especially with flashing lights and complicated programs. He’ll spend days carving the perfect banister, even though the barn doesn’t actually have any stairs yet, but he’ll also spend an entire weekend installing what seemed like miles of cable, just so he can turn off all the lights with one click of a button on the remote-control unit. Unfortunately, Trevor then buried the remote control in the garden, so he’s got to buy a new one, but in theory it’ll be great.
“I’m off to the auction now, to get those panels. Well, I hope so anyway. Solid oak.”
“Are you taking Trevor?”
“Yes.”
“Watch out he doesn’t bid for anything.”
“I’ll leave him in the car.”
“Good luck.”
“He’s much better now I’ve got the dog mesh up in the back. He lies down and goes to sleep. Well, sometimes.”
“Yes, and the rest of the time he rocks the car backward and forward and eats the backseat.”
“He does not, well not lately. I’ll ring you later, shall I, let you know how I got on at the auction?”
“Sure. I’ve got my Stitch and Bitch group later on though.”
I’m not sure I can really face another conversation about Oak.
There’s a sound of barking and aristocratic canine commands as Lady Denby arrives, with Algie and Clarkson in her wake. Dear God. Today must be Take Your Dog to Your Local Wool Shop Day and nobody’s bloody told me.
“Is that your dog outside?”
Martin takes a step backward. “Yes, he’s—”
“Get him trained then. Can’t have dogs leaping up like that, spreads like wildfire, bad behavior with dogs. People too, come to think of it. Morning, my dear, know you don’t like me bringing mine in, but I can’t leave them outside next to that idiotic wolfhound.”
“Morning, Lady Denby. I’m afraid we really can’t have them in here, not with the café. Martin was just leaving, weren’t you, Martin? So Trevor will be going too.”
“Trevor? Extraordinary name for a dog. Always call mine after staff, so much easier to remember. Excellent butler, Clarkson, worked for my father for years. Can’t remember who Algie was—oh yes, the gardener’s boy. Marvelous with soft fruit. Not the boy, the father. The boy was hopeless. Had a motorbike, used to make a terrible racket. Fell off it eventually, much quieter after that. Now, where was I?”
“Good morning, Lady Denby.”
Elsie’s shot back downstairs and is now trying to keep a safe distance
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